From Greenland’s icy mountains

From Greenland's icy mountains,From India's coral strand,Where Afric's sunny fountainsRoll down their golden sand;From many an ancient river,From many a palmy plain,They call us to deliverTheir land from error's chain.

What though the spicy breezesBlow soft o'er Ceylon's isle—Though every prospect pleases,And only man is vile?—In vain with lavish kindnessThe gifts of God are strown;The heathen in his blindnessBows down to wood and stone.

Shall we, whose souls are lightedBy wisdom from on high—Shall we to man benightedThe lamp of life deny?—Salvation!—oh, salvation!The joyful sound proclaim,Till earth's remotest nationHas learnt Messiah's name.

Waft, waft, ye winds, his story;And you, ye waters, roll,Till, like a sea of glory,It spreads from pole to pole;Till o'er our ransomed nature,The Lamb for sinners slain,Redeemer, King, Creator,Returns in bliss to reign.